


MOONWALK

by winluvr



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, Introspection, Kissing, M/M, Narration Heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winluvr/pseuds/winluvr
Summary: Enter Kenji and the way he looks at Chikara like he's looking through stained glass. Enter Kenji and the way he loves Chikara to the point that he does not know what to do with himself.
Relationships: Ennoshita Chikara/Futakuchi Kenji
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	MOONWALK

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [no time to be alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4588824) by [cenli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cenli/pseuds/cenli). 



> this is my humble offering to the ennofuta shippers. the characterization might be off but i'm not too great at writing either of them yet!

“The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”

— Maya Angelou

i.

Futakuchi Kenji thinks of Chikara and barely anything comes to mind except the slow, gentle way the corners of his lips descend into a smile. Eyes soft when he looks at Kenji, like it was an expression reserved for him. Tired eyes easing in one fell swoop to a more relaxed expression. Restless hands, probably from drinking too much vanilla lattes, coming to sleep.

A blue-toned, melancholy film plays on Chikara’s old laptop. (They watch in silence, arms and legs tangled together, as the girl sits in her car and reads the letter, crumpled and folded like it had been set aside for days, from her dead boyfriend.) Between the monologue and the subdued soundtrack, there is a muffled sob coming from between them and it’s not from Chikara, who had already watched this certain film, like, ten times.

Kenji curls up between the rumpled sheets, eyes swollen and pink from crying. “This is such a stupid film. Why do you like films like this so much,” he says, face half hidden behind a pillow. “It’s so sad and stupid and…  _ dumb _ . He was too young to die like that.” He rants on and on, words twisting with one another that Chikara just might shut his voice out. 

(The film continues to show a sappy little medley of the memories of the main characters, their sunlit faces all warm and smiley and  _ happy _ , a summer breeze flitting through their hair, looking so young and so in love, but Kenji’s eyes aren’t focused on the screen anymore.)

Chikara has his elbow propped up against a pillow. Bright light, a soft warm white, from the screen casts shadows on his nose and jaw and Kenji cannot help but look at him, a soft, longing look on his face. He can’t help but look at him like he isn’t already his, because what’s the point of lying next to such a pretty boy when you’re not going to admire his beauty?

The smile that dangles on Chikara’s pretty pink mouth now isn’t that much of pure delight, but of amusement. There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, one that would be almost impossible to catch when you’re not accustomed to being around him. 

Unfortunately, Kenji has always been an expert in the art of gazing at him like he holds the key to the skies.

“Kenji,” Chikara says, “I didn’t know you cry during movies.” The little smile doesn’t leave his face. Kenji decides to welcome its presence instead.

“And you don’t?” Kenji challenges, a pout settling on his face. (The film is still playing in front of them, neither of them bothering to hit the pause button. The colors grow a little gloomier, its overall atmosphere hitting a low.)

“You should try reading the novel it was based on,” Chikara hums. He tries to stand up to take the blue book from his bookshelf, but Kenji already has his arms wrapped around his waist. “Get off,” he groans, “I need to get it for you. You _ have  _ to read the book. It’s like a prerequisite.” He shakes Kenji’s arms off, but he barely makes an effort and Kenji knows it. 

Kenji grins beside him. Chikara’s weak resolve puts him at an advantage at times like this. “Whatever. Let’s just stay like this.” He closes his eyes. He opens them again when he feels Chikara looking. “Stop looking at me. I know it’s stupid to cry over something like that.”

Chikara presses his lips to his forehead. “Hush, you big baby,” he says, ruffling Kenji’s tousled brown hair. “It’s okay. I don’t think that you’re any less of a man if you cry during movies, you know.” Kenji doesn’t protest.

(Neither of them notice when the film ends.)

Maybe he  _ does _ hold the key to something. Kenji isn’t too sure yet if it’s the skies or the universe or his heart. The skies always smile down at Chikara, clouds white and fluffy against soft blue. The sun is always warm and cozy against his skin, always bright but never in a way that stings, never in a way that burns. The events of the universe seem to always go his way. It’s like he holds the whole world in his hands. Kenji has a big mouth like it’s meant for bickering, but he always grows weak when it comes to Chikara. Maybe it’s all of them. 

ii.

Futakuchi Kenji still remembers the first time he met Chikara, all stupid half lidded eyes looking like he had come from one of his hypersaturated fever dreams and all stupid sleepy smile like he hadn’t gotten an ounce of sleep the night before. He tucks away all of the little things he observes about Chikara somewhere in the corners of his mind, like a tribute to an enigma.

The first time he met Chikara, he could only think about the way he takes up space. Careful, deliberate, like he is trying not to go past an unspoken boundary. He goes unnoticed whether he’s on the court racking up points for the team or standing in the small spaces between a crowd or sitting in the backseat of a dimly-lit theater, but his presence is always warm, always stabilizing. 

The first time he realizes he likes Chikara, Kenji takes note of the little things Chikara finally lets himself do. His spindly arms only reach over when Kenji lets him, sharp elbows barely digging at his ribs. Calculating eyes looking over at Kenji when he touches him. He always seems to know the right words to say. His words are always carefully selected, always soothing. He takes up space like he’s trying to keep the whole world steady. The first time he touched Chikara, Kenji wished that Chikara would let himself rock the world a little, let it go a bit unbalanced, let himself rely on him.

The first time he saw Chikara outside of their teams’ volleyball matches, he could only think about how stupid his hair looked like. Bangs barely reaching his eyebrows, hanging over the top half of his forehead. Deep black, looking like he dyes it everyday, looking like the dark side of the ocean. Not an ounce of gel.

Kenji sets his gaze on the boy sitting beside their table. Black, windswept hair and eyes shying away from the world. He’s warming his hands on his cup of coffee and chattering away to his friends. Kenji tunes out their conversation, but he can’t seem to stop looking at him.

Moniwa waves a hand in front of his face. “Hey,” he says, “stop staring at them. They might catch you looking.” (Translation: “It’s creepy as hell.”)

Kenji averts his eyes from Chikara. “I’m not,” he insists. (Translation: “I am, but I don’t want you to point it out.) “I just think it looks stupid.”

“What does?”

“I think his hair looks kinda stupid,” Kenji remarks, a sour gummy worm (the orange and lime one, his favorite) wedged between his top teeth. “Looks like he doesn’t even brush it.” None of them bother to point out that he has almost the exact same hairstyle. 

Aone blinks at him, but doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. He sits in silence beside Kenji, his hands clenched in a steeple position. A dish of honey-drizzled pancakes sits in front of him, almost finished.

Kamasaki gulps down the last of his scrambled eggs, then rolls his eyes at him. “It’s the humidity, dumbass.” He proceeds to dig his hand into Kenji’s mini bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers. Kenji doesn’t bother to swat his hand away, not taking his eyes off the other boy.

“You sound like you just might have a crush on him,” Moniwa says, humming as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Kenji almost chokes on a gummy worm, but he thinks about how lame his gravestone would look like if he died in a diner while eating breakfast. Death by Sour Gummy Worms didn’t exactly sound like the noble death he was hoping for. “No way,” he says. “He’s from Karasuno.” There’s a little venom in the way Kenji says it, but the way he’s been looking at him dilutes it.

The first time he saw Chikara outside of their teams’ volleyball matches, he could think about how pretty he was, all windswept hair and dreamy eyes and faint smiles softening him into butter. Kenji, with his head whirling past sobriety, gets drunk on the thought of reaching over and raking his fingers through his hair. 

The first time he saw Chikara on the other side of the net during a practice match, he could only think about how easy it would be to talk to him, how easy it would be to reach out and tell him about how he has always wanted to go against their team again. 

Kenji reaches out and tugs on the net. “Hey,” he greets, a lazy smile dangling on his lips. He holds his hand out. “It’s nice playing with you guys again.”

Chikara smiles. (It’s the calm, collected smile expected from a captain. Kenji can’t help but feel jealous of how calm Chikara looked when his own heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.) “You too. Good game.” He takes his hand and shakes it. “See you next time.”

Their teams line up. Kenji notices how captain-like Chikara has become, after just one year of looking up to Karasuno’s former captain. Notices the way he pats his members’ backs after the loss. Notices the smile on his face and how it isn’t forced at all, like somewhere along the road, he’s gotten used to losing matches and winning some, like he’s gotten used to being on the court. Kenji feels his heart flutter under his jersey.

After the match and after handing everyone their water bottles, Kenji heads out and saunters toward Chikara. (He tries to act casual. Act cool.) “Hey again,” he says, wiping the sweat off his face. “So I was wondering…”

Chikara nods. “Hello, Futakuchi-san. What’s up?”

“Mind giving me your number?” Kenji says. Then he retracts. “Uh, you know, for setting up practice matches again. In the future. We’d like to play again. You know.”

“Yeah, sure.” Chikara’s smile grows deeper. “Wait a second.” He digs into his duffel bag for his phone. “Here, type in your number. I’ll text you when I can.”

The first time he talks to Chikara over the phone, he could only think about seeing Chikara again. He could only think about the way he smiles, the way he gives up so much of his time and effort for his team, the way he wants every little thing to go right. 

A month or so has passed since they exchanged phone numbers, but Kenji still can’t place a single name to the feeling he gets in his chest whenever his phone lights up with a notification from Chikara. The text tone hums in the silence of his empty bedroom. 

**From:** ennoshita (karasuno)

**Sent:** 11:20PM

[hey.]

**From:** ennoshita (karasuno)

**Sent:** 11:20PM

[you’re still up, right? is this a bad time for me to text?]

Kenji rushes to put on his eyeglasses again and reply. He  _ was _ about to go to sleep, but then again he would rather talk to Chikara. He types out a quick reply.

**From:** Futakuchi-san

**Sent:** 11:21PM

[heyyy]

**From:** Futakuchi-san

**Sent:** 11:21PM

[no it’s fine actually]

**From:** Futakuchi-san

**Sent:** 11:22PM

[i was just going to put on a movie or something but i couldn’t pick one. any recommendations for me?]

**From:** ennoshita (karasuno)

**Sent:** 11:22PM

[yeah sure. there’s a lot.]

Chikara sends him a whole list of films. Obscure ones he has never heard of. Foreign ones. Classics. Kenji wonders what it would be like to lie down next to him and watch him as he keeps his eyes on the screen. 

**From:** Futakuchi-san

**Sent:** 11:30PM

[thanks :) we should watch them together sometime]

Kenji yelps when he hits the send button too quickly to think it over. His mother shouts at him to tone it down. 

**From:** ennoshita (karasuno)

**Sent:** 11:31PM

[yeah sure, why not]

**From:** ennoshita (karasuno)

**Sent:** 11:31PM

[i’d love to. just send me the date and time]

_ What.  _ Kenji blinks at the screen. His plans for sleeping early tonight have been demolished. 

The first time he talks to Chikara under the moon, he could only think about the way he presents himself to everyone. He hopes Chikara would let him see him when he isn’t okay. He hopes Chikara would let himself be vulnerable, let himself depend on someone else than himself. He hopes that someone would be him.

iii.

Futakuchi Kenji thinks of Chikara and the way he just might be so into him that he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. Eyes soft whenever he watches his favorite films, but also whenever he looks at Kenji, like he is something special to him. A small smile sitting on his lips whenever he watches his teammates bounce around the corners of the gymnasium, but also whenever he watches Kenji twist his lips into a wicked grin, like he is something wonderful. Restless hands from the endless cups of coffee calming down to reach out and touch Kenji like he is something delicate.

A warm, summery romcom plays out in the background on Chikara’s laptop. (They watch as a boy professes his undying love to the girl he has only known for a few weeks. It seems pretentious, really, to claim that you’re in love with someone whose background you haven’t even scratched the surface of. But it works. How do actors even make this kind of thing look so good? It’s cheesy, but it works for him. Must be something about his eloquence, the way he delivers the lines.) 

Kenji holds back a grimace and plants his face into his hands. (Second-hand embarrassment hits hard when you’re watching a film with someone you like.) Beside him, Chikara laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“What’s so funny,” Kenji says, rolling over on his back to face the ceiling. He counts the glow in the dark stars that Chikara has pasted in his room. Contemplates the probability of Chikara rejecting him if he confesses to him right now. Watches the little star as it peels away.

“Nothing.” Chikara scoops out a spoonful of mandarin orange slices from a canister. “Except the way you’re blushing like an idiot right now. Care to tell me why?” He has a stupid, pretty smirk on his face and Kenji wants nothing else but to be able to wipe it off.

Kenji hums. Then rolls back again to face Chikara. “I think I like you,” he says in one short breath, so fast that Chikara almost,  _ almost  _ doesn’t catch it. (The film continues to play in front of them, but neither of them have their eyes on the screen. The main characters stand in the crowd, hand in hand, when the boy leans over, agonizingly slow, and kisses the girl as a bright fireworks display explodes behind them. Orange pales to black and the fireworks flash a lemonade pink.)

“What?” Chikara smiles. (The screen flashes back to white walls and pink flowers. The boy holds a guitar in his hands. He hands the girl a huge bouquet of flowers and serenades her while her mother watches.)

Kenji swats at his arm and covers himself with the sheets. “You heard what I said,” he murmurs.

“Of course I like you too,” Chikara says. (The girl is brought to tears.) “I wouldn’t invite you over if I didn’t.” The words are reckless, coming from his mouth. 

Kenji blinks. “Like, like-like?” When he realizes that what he just said doesn’t make any sense, he starts over. “You mean, all this time, you liked me too?”

“Duh,” Chikara drawls. “I was just waiting for you to tell me first, so I could save myself from humiliation. Thank God you confessed first.” He smiles, smiles, smiles. It feels like all he has been doing all day is smile at him. And for Kenji, it’s more than enough.

Kenji buries his head in the crook of Chikara’s neck, nuzzling against him. “I want to kiss you so bad right now you don’t even know.” And so, he does. 

He pulls Chikara, brows still raised and mouth still agape, into a kiss. It’s slow, it’s soft and it’s everything that he could have wished for. He tastes like light syrup and sour crystals and everything good in the world. (The girl says yes and takes the boy’s hand in hers.) Kenji feels like fireworks are materializing out of thin air behind their backs. Maybe they are. Kenji feels like the world has stopped spinning in the ground below them. Maybe it has. Kenji feels like everything is alright. 

iv.

Futakuchi Kenji still remembers the first  _ official _ date they had together. (“You’re asking me out?” Chikara had said the day before, his half lidded eyes sparkling, a flicker in the clouds. “I didn’t know you had the guts.”)

It’s a warm summer day and Kenji stands in front of the cinema, two tickets in one hand and his phone in the other. He swipes his fingers across the keyboard and proceeds to bombard Chikara with texts (“Hey? You okay?” “You still there?” “Are you coming?”) until he finally arrives ten minutes later, holding two little bags of blue raspberry gummies. Kenji flushes pink, like fruit punch and candyfloss, when Chikara looks at him.

“Hi,” Kenji says. He feels breathless, as though he had run all the way to the cinema. “What took you long?”

Chikara rubs his hand against the back of his neck. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, looking down at his wrist to check the time. “Traffic’s horrible at this time of day.”

“Oh,” Kenji says. “Sorry.” He bites his lip. He  _ knows _ all too well that Chikara lives of the prefecture, and yet—

“Don’t be.” Chikara’s face relaxes into a smile. “I’ll go as far as I can as long as I’ll be able to be with you.” 

They enter the cinema in silence as the lights switch to pitch black. Chikara lets his hand trail down Kenji’s arm to intertwine their fingers together.

Kenji still remembers the seventh official date they had together. It has just finished raining. The stormy gray clouds finally fade to crystal white above them and the bright blue sky stretches over their heads. (“Pretty,” Chikara remarked that day, staring straight up. “I can finally take some good photos on my camera.”)

Kenji watches on, as Chikara is bathed in the golden syrup of the sun. Watches on, as Chikara focuses and refocuses his camera. Watches on, as Chikara digs in the pockets of his dark gray shorts and tries to find his microfiber cloth. (Instead, he takes out a crumpled sashimi receipt.) Watches on, as Chikara takes an endless amount of photos. (Trees, sunrise, ocean.)

Chikara holds up his digital camera to Kenji’s face and tells him to smile. (“Come on now, it would look good in my photo album.”) Kenji rolls his eyes before baring a wide, crinkled-eye smile. (“Are you happy now?”)

“Of course.” Chikara smiles. His eyes are bright and wide when he looks at Kenji, looking like he holds the stars in his eyes. “I always am when I’m with you.”

Kenji blushes and looks away. The sun is staring him down in the face. “Yeah, yeah, you’re so cheesy.” (Chikara takes another moving shot of Kenji.)

Chikara laughs and Kenji hears the faint sound of a choir of angels singing in the distance. “So? Sue me.” He looks off into the ocean, sand tickling his feet as he takes just a few more shots of Kenji, who tries to cover his face with his hands. (“Stop it, I look awful today.”)

Kenji watches as Chikara smiles at him, knocking the breath out of his chest. “Wait. You’ve got something in your face.” Kenji brushes a stray lock of hair out of Chikara’s face. He laughs when his face flushes. “You’re all red,” he teases. “My Chikara is so  _ cute _ .”

Chikara hangs the camera strap on his neck and holds his head between his hands. “Stop it,” he groans. “And you tell me I’m cheesy.” (Kenji laughs and kisses him.)

Kenji still remembers the fourteenth (or so) official date they had together. The night is young, and so are they. Chikara is wearing a cream turtleneck tucked inside dark gray ankle length pants, looking like he had walked right into the racks of a Uniqlo and dressed in the dark. (Somehow, Chikara always makes everything look good on him. Kenji wonders if he would look just as good in bright pink and neon green. Probably will.)

Kenji can’t help the way Chikara makes him grin to himself like an idiot, like a teenager still going through puberty and experiencing their first crush, like a  _ wreck.  _ (It seems almost like a second nature to Chikara by now— all this stuff about riling Kenji up the way he does to others and making Kenji a panicked mess, as though they hadn’t been dating for a while now.)

They’re sitting just in the middle of a crowded family restaurant, having dinner before they go home. ( _ The food is really cheap there _ , Chikara said when Kenji went to pick him up,  _ and it’s good quality too _ .) Kenji doesn’t mind that the place is meant for families with children because if Chikara said the food they serve is great, then it must be god-tier. Chikara barely flips through the menu, already having been here ten times.

“Have a piece of my  _ tonkatsu _ ,” Kenji offers. He slides his bowl of pork cutlets over to Chikara’s side. “Come on, it’s fine.”

Chikara sighs. “Fine, but you have to try some of my  _ ochazuke. _ ” (Kenji was not going to lie, he wasn’t exactly a fan of  _ ochazuke  _ topped with pickled plums. He thinks  _ umeboshi  _ are too salty to taste good.)

“First, it was the sea pineapple,” Kenji protests, “now  _ this _ .” (Chikara swats at him. “What do you mean  _ this? _ ”) “I don’t think I’m convinced you have functioning taste buds, Chikara.” Still, he takes a spoonful into his mouth. (Later, Kenji admits, if only to himself and not Chikara, that  _ umeboshi  _ doesn’t taste all that bad.)

Neither of them suggest going home. (They do, but only after Kenji drinks a little too much  _ sake  _ and Chikara has to drive them home. After almost running into a tree, they get home remotely safe and Kenji crashes into Chikara’s bed. Neither of them protest.)

Futakuchi Kenji remembers everything about Chikara, even the things that he doesn’t know about himself yet. He remembers the way his nose crinkles when he eats something bad for his stomach, the way his lips twist into a slow, steady smirk when he watches Kenji doing something stupid, the way the wind sweeps through his hair. He remembers all of the ways in which Chikara tells him he loves him, the way he never says a word and never has to lift a finger to let him know about it.

v.

Futakuchi Kenji thinks of Chikara and barely anything comes to mind except the way he makes him feel like he’s out of breath and the world is spinning in front of him. His eyes always seem to turn soft when he looks at Kenji, looking at him with all the longing of the stars. His smile always seem to cast a light whenever he aims it at Kenji, like a spotlight shining right in front of his eyes. Kenji lets Chikara love him back to moondust.

A dark, neon-bathed film plays on Chikara’s laptop in front of them. (They watch in silence, Chikara’s head resting on Kenji’s shoulder, as the lemon yellow lights flash back to pale greens and burst into cherry reds. The film tackles the raw art of longing and the dangers of falling in love. Right now, a girl eats dim sum with a boy in a barely-lit diner.) Between the monologue and colorful soundtrack, Kenji feels his eyes shutting. 

Chikara nudges him in the ribs to keep his eyes open. “Come on,” he says. “Stay awake for a while, please. We’re getting to the good part of this movie.” (He does not have to say it twice when he has this little pout on his lips that Kenji has never wanted more but to kiss.)

“Fine, fine.” Kenji blinks his eyes and tries to keep them wide open. “It’s good, really.” (Chikara looks at him skeptically.) “I’m just kinda sleepy.” 

Chikara kisses the sleep out of him. Chikara is cupping his face between his hands and he has never felt more alive, never felt more awake. “There. Better now?” he says when he pulls away. His cheeks flush pale pink under the light shining from the lamp on his bedside.

“Never been better,” Kenji says, drunk on the taste of Chikara’s lips. “God, I love you.” And so, he kisses him again, kisses him back into outer space, until they feel like they are walking on the stars, sashaying across the sun and grazing their feet against the moon. 


End file.
